How Shift Work Hasn’t Wrecked My Marriage, Yet

We hope it’s true love forever, of course. But nothing can destroy a family schedule like shift work. My husband comes and goes at irregular hours. He misses family gatherings, major holidays, the weddings of loved ones. He shows up, derails “The Plan” (which is usually pretty mundane anyway) and claims time that, in the pursuit of “feeling normal,” has been assigned elsewhere.

With four kids homeschooling, and the oldest two now in high school, the demands are incredibly high. The juggling and the interruptions sometimes cause me to wonder whether we’re accomplishing anything or spinning our wheels. On top of that, there are the obligations of my editorial business. Trying to carve out personal writing time can seem completely futile.

That said, I probably wouldn’t be able to do any of it if not for the shift work. When my husband is home, he takes the kids. He wants to invest himself into their lives and education. He is a die-hard family man: his life dream never centered around a particular career. To him, career is a means of achieving his personal dream—which has always been to get married and raise children.

I’ve supported him in that. And he supports me in my dream. When I’m ready to give up on writing, he’s the one who tells me to “finish the book.” When I have editing clients to serve, he makes sure time and energy are available to me. He’s the one who closes the door to give me space, takes the kids out for an afternoon, or the runs extra errands.

He’s the one.

In my writers’ circles, jokes relating my personal self to the old saying “bats in the belfry” have surfaced from time to time (it’s all among friends). He smiles and says to me, “The great thing about bats is they eat mosquitoes. I hate mosquitoes.”

And that’s how it goes. I ignore writer chat online about writing schedules, routines, and rituals. Maybe someday. He ignores the faults and flaws of a creative personality. We’re probably right. It probably is true love forever. That seems to be the glue of an interrupted marriage.